Reinvention
by nimueturtle
Summary: In a fit of boredom Draco decides to become an auror. The only problem? Harry Potter- the boy who lived to annoy.  But there's something different about the Boy Wonder, and when Draco starts spending more time with him, his feelings begin to change.
1. Chapter 1

Draco Malfoy stood at the entrance for Auror training for only a moment before he entered. This was not the time to show, or to feel, any nervousness over his decision. He had passed the basic training- practicing hundreds of mindless spells, battle techniques, and physical preparations. This was the last year of training, and really, the upcoming partner training should not have given him this strange dread. But it did. For one reason. (Well, two.) Harry Potter, and the red-headed side-kick, Ronald Weasley.

_Fuck_

There were three reasons he'd decided to become an Auror. The first- it got the birds. Everyone loves a man in uniform, and Draco loved being loved. Second- it would restore some measure of lost awe to the Malfoy name. Narcissa was busy throwing balls to show how much money the Malfoy's still had- how much _power_ they still had in the upper class, and Lucius was trying to worm his way back into the ministry, showing how much power they still had in the government. Neither of these efforts, however, stopped people from looking down their noses at the once powerful purebloods. That was up to Draco to fix.

The third reason he'd become an Auror was that he, quite simply, didn't quite know what to do with his life. He'd oscillated between different ideas before he'd seen the notice that anyone who'd participated in the battle of Hogwarts could sign up for training- and learned that he could, indeed, become an Auror he had decided to do it. And why not?

Other than, of course, the aforementioned Potter and Weasley.

This Ministry sanctioned Auror training facility seemed, to all within, to be a sitting room. There were wide windows, and various portraits of old ministers on the wall. There were a few bookshelves around, and several large chairs, couches, and corner tables. There was a large open space in front of a fire place, where John Dawlish stood at a podium.

"Ah- welcome, Mr. Malfoy, please take a seat. I believe you are the last of prospects, so let's begin, shall we?"

Draco wandered over to an empty arm chair, towards the back with a good view of Dawlish.

"I'd like all of you," the man began, "to make a list for me. There is charmed parchment on the podium, and quills… around. You will be making two lists," he held up two fingers as if to make sure they all knew how many he meant, "one with top three people in the room, with whom you would _like_ to be partnered- and one of the top three with whom would _not_ like to be partnered. This way, we can ensure you will all be doing your best in training. Now- come here and get your parchment. Wait until I tell you to start writing."

Draco rolled his eyes as all the others stood to mob around Dawlish's podium. "_Accio Parchment_" he intoned. A single sheet flew to him.

The others in the room turned to him.

He shrugged. He did not, as he once would have, said "What- was I the only one who was raised to be a _wizard?_" No, this **new **Draco- one who made friends with people- even if they were below him.

A few of the brighter recruits followed his example, but Draco smirked as Weasley stalked up to the front, then glared at back at Draco as he got his parchment. Finally, when everyone was once more seated, Dawlish instructed everyone to go around the room and introduce themselves- so if you didn't know someone's name after two years of Auror training with them you could still put them on your list- since you obviously felt _so_ strongly about them.

Draco sighed. Who did he want to work with? None of them had the same skill in combat, or well-bred manners, as a Malfoy. But there were a few who were… good enough. First was Arnica Simons, obviously. She was a willowy brunette who'd been a dab hand at the hand to hand combat they'd done- supple, she was. And she the reddest, poutiest lips he'd seen since... well, that one night in Belgium. The second, James Madley, was a dark man, bit mysterious, bit dangerous looking, Draco had worked with him doing defense spells- he was a quiditch player, and had an ass of _granite_. Draco took his time with the third. There was a generic sultry red headed girl, and a short, but beefy, blond he had decided were tied.

The red head though, worried him, because of the resemblance to the Weasleys. He didn't want to end up paired with some distant relative of the wonder twins and little-boy-weasel. The blond boy, a Stephen Cornfoot, was thus the third name on Draco's first last.

The second list was easy enough. _Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley_, and… did he really need a third? There, Joshua Monkleigh. Little American freak.

Draco smiled and twirled his quill as he waited for the other trainees to finish introducing themselves. When Potter introduced himself Draco snorted, who didn't know the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Rub-it-in-our-Noses?

Dawlish stood, after the last trainee, Amanda Zygmon, and spoke. "When you have completed both lists the names will be transferred to an Arthimancer in the department who will compile your names with each other, so both partners are satisfied."

Draco noticed then, at the bottom of his parchment, in small letter, "Is this your final answer?" and had two boxes- a yes and a no.

Draco check "yes."

The parchment faded until it was completely blank, and then shimmered out of being.

_Neat_.

Around him, others where finishing, their papers shimmering away as well. When everyone had finished, there was a knock at the door.

It swung open to reveal Hermoine Granger, bushy hair and all.

"We- you're finished already?" Dawlish exclaimed.

"Erm, yes well, I wrote the algorithm earlier, and it solved itself as each name was entered."

_Show off._

"Oh, well. In that case- trainees, you will be paired with three partners for two months each. The remaining six months will be done with an assigned partner based on skill level. Miss Granger will give you your pairs. You may find yourself surprised. "

_Fuck_.

Draco tried not to sulk as he walked to the final third of the dream team. She smiled at him, he could tell it was forced, and said in her prim, swotty, know it all voice "Your first partner will be Arnica Simmons, second will be… Ronald Weasley, and third will be Daphne Carter."

_Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck._

At least it wasn't Potter.


	2. Chapter 2

Arnica Simons was an absolute wonder in bed. The girl clearly had some unresolved problems with her father. All it took were some sweet glances and a bottle of wine that was too good for her and she was putty in Draco's hands. She was also the most flexible person he'd ever met and kinky as corkscrew. Her only down fall was a strange obsession with monogamy. She seemed to think that because Draco fucked her, she had some hold on his life. At the end of their two month partnership Draco was happy when she "walked in on" a "secret tryst" with her "trusted friend".

Draco's response, ("Don't have such fit mates if you don't want me to plow them.") had gotten him hexed, dumped, and ignored. Although he could've done without the first, it ended up being a good plan, and finally given him back his free time. Rather than window shopping and ignoring heavy handed hints, he, one winter Sunday, found himself with nothing today.

Draco's time off- that is when he wasn't training to become an Auror, or seducing the trousers off of any, and every, one, was usually spent categorizing his dead Godfather's memories. They were, primarily, depressing. Severus Snape had lived a hard life, full of… hardship. Abusive father, negligent mother, twat of a best friend.

He drifted through Snape's Pensive of Penultimate Pain. "Torture at Death Eaters Meeting: 1, 2, 3, 4- revenge of Regulus, and 5- Voldemort Returns". "Raping and Pillaging Muggles"- only a trilogy so far, and, Draco's favorite, "Lily is a Fucking Bitch" (there were several of those as well) had all been sorted, along with a few extras. It was a bit depressing to watch Snape go through all of his personal hells, and Draco felt a bit like he was living them as well. Most of the ones he'd seen were recent, which made sense, they were, after all most recent.

This time, however, it was not so. Draco peered into the bottom of the pensieve and a hard rock beat suddenly surrounded him. Snape, well, Snape around 16, in full on teen-angst mode, was slouching into a club. He was wearing tight fitting muggle jeans, in black, and a roughed up t-shirt of the same colour. The song playing was apt. "I am angry, I am ill and I'm as ugly as sin/ My irritability keeps me alive and kicking". Draco sniggered.

Inside the dark muggle club teens, all dressed like Snape, were 'dancing'. Draco watched Snape scan the crowd, and together they rested their eyes on the red haired figure of Lily Potter, nee Evans, dancing with none other than James Potter- future husband and enemy of Severus Snape. They danced without noticing him until Snape flinched out of the crowded building while fumbling in his pocket. By the time Draco drifted out to follow he was smoking a muggle cigarette, and crying.

Draco, almost dreaming, felt his godfather's anguish- that _she _had brought _him_, _here_. It was _their_ place. The memory ended as Snape, shoulders shaking with sobs, stumbled down the cracked pavement.

Draco drew out the pensieve with the taste of tobacco in his mouth, and a heavy anguish in his spirit. With his wand he drew the memory out of the stone cut bowl and into a glass vial. "Lily is a Fucking Bitch 7: Dancing Slut."

Draco hated using Snape's pensieve. It was always oddly more… graphic than it needed to be. No, graphic wasn't the word it was… too everything. The watcher not only saw, but tasted, smelled, and felt the memory.

It made watching them hard for Draco.

But Draco was willing to make the sacrifice, for his Godfather- and he dove back in.

Draco watched, separated, and labeled two more memories that day, which made him rather proud, three was a good number for lazy Sunday.

He called for his house elf, which arrived baring a tray of biscuits and coffee. He nodded at the pitiful creature and picked up a biscuit. It was crisp, just as he liked them. He left his coffee and instead found a (semi-) clean sniffer that he poured a judicious amount of fire whiskey into.

He levitated the tray of biscuits behind him as left his study to enter his parlor. There was a fire already burning, although it was not particularly high. Biscuit in one hand, and fire whiskey in the other, he sat a large chair facing the fire, and grimly stared into it, lost in thought. Those who had known his godfather might have seen a resemblance- if, of course, they looked past the fair hair, Adonis like good looks, and choco biscuit. But really, if he could have, wouldn't Snape have wanted it so?


	3. Chapter 3

The next two months loomed like… god, something too unpleasant for words. Working with Weasley- with the _freckles_, and the _ginger_, and the _slob. _The man was an uncultured buffoon with about as much taste a tap water. Not of course that Draco drank tap water, but it was the pure peasantry of it all.

After a week though, working with the man was rather less unpleasant than Draco had imagined. He was a bit of a brute, but he had a good head for strategy. They had declared a truce the first day, both cared more about being good Aurors (or, in Draco's case, make people think he cared about being a good Auror) more than continuing the Malfoy-Weasley blood feud. But… although neither was _actively_ antagonistic to the other, there were… words said. Fortunately, Draco was not Weasley's biggest problem, no, that spot had been filled by his wife to be, the ever swotty know-it-all Hermoine Granger.

Weasley had been complaining about her, _again_, loudly, and Draco was, despite himself, amused. When Weasley finished Draco said the one word that can unite all of mankind, no matter what their past. "Women,"

Weasley looked at him, scoffed, "Yeah, women." And with one great freckled hand, clapped Draco on the shoulder.

And so with that, the years of personal and familial hatred were gone. Oh they made fun of each other, but it was good natured. More importantly, with Weasley's approval came Potter's- which meant an invitation to Boys Night the following Friday.

The conversation was brief- "So, what is… Boys Night?"

"We get drunk- black out drunk, and complain about our women at the pub."

"Oh. Well. Alright then. 7, you said?"

And that was that. The next Friday found Draco at a muggle pub in down town London getting wasted.

The next Saturday saw Draco waking up with a splitting head ache and almost no memory of the night before.

He found on the table by his bed, a tray. On said tray was a pot of tea, with a vial of hang over potion leaning against it, some toast, and a pile of papers. Draco poured the potion into his tea, and swiftly drained the cup. He poured another which he sipped, slowly, as he went through the papers. The first was a copy of the Daily Prophet, with a note in his father's elegant hand pined on the front. The note read "Keep up the good work, son." The head line of the paper read, "Potter and Pal parley with Pureblood Prince at Pub!" The picture under it was of the three of them, Draco, Potter and Weasley, engaged in a heated discussion. As Draco watched the picture he saw Potter point to the camera, (out of the newspaper) and nudge Weasley. The portrait Draco caught on and made a rude sign at him, and grinned- cheekily.

Draco snorted. Well, he did remember doing that- even if it took being reminded of it to bring up the memory.

He didn't bother to read the article, it would be bollocks anyway. He dropped it on the floor. The next in the stack of papers was a missive from Theo, who was traveling around the Balkans. Draco set it aside, with more reverence, to look at the third, and final note. This one looked as if it had been rolled, to fit on a personal owl, rather than one of the ministries general carriers.

Draco unrolled it.

"Malfoy-

am holding you to promise

will arrive at 2

-Harry"

_What._

Draco stared. What had he promised Harry Potter the night before?

He tried to remember but the last thing he recalled was getting into a Drinking Game with Weasley.

There was only one solution.

And it meant getting out of bed. Draco groaned. The floor was cool on his bare feet, and although the pounding in his head, and the accompanying nausea had vanished he was still feeling... unpleasant. But he suffered through- Malfoys are, after all, made of stronger stuff than most wizards.

He went to his pensieve, not Snape's, for the first time in quite a time, and- touching the end of his wand to his temple, drew out his memory of the night before. He watched as it swirled down into the silver water, and then followed it.

He saw himself go to the pub, and watched as they drank, and talked- until past what he really remembered.

The topic of discussion had moved from Auror training to quiditch, to women, to sex, and finally to Hogwarts. And with Hogwarts, came Snape.

"I know he was integral to the war effort- but he was still a git. He might have been noble and all, but he didn't need to be such a berk about it." Weasley whinged.

"Ron- you don't understand, Snape was... he was troubled." Potter argued- or tried to at least, with varying success, considering the slurring and mumbling.

"Ha!" Draco- well, the Draco of the night before, scoffed, "what would you know about it Potter? What would _you_ know about the trials Snape went through?"

"I- he showed me his memories, when he died... to help me kill Voldemort."

Both Dracos- the memory, and the real one, flinched at the name.

"So? What did you see? Did you see his father abusive him- try to beat the magic out of him? Did you see his mother let it happen? Did you see _your_ father? And _your_ mother? Did he show you Dumbledore ignoring him? In favor of... of..."

"My parents?"

"YES!" Pensieve Draco had grown angry, and foolish in his drinking. "Look- if you want to know what it was really like for Severus Snape- how 'troubled' his life really was- I'll show you. Come to my flat when you have the courage."

Fuck.

And the memory ended, because that was all Draco needed to see.

Again.

Pulling out of the pensieve Draco called out "Jeeves!"

A house elf, slightly less miserable looking than most, appeared. "Yes, Master Draco?"

"I will be having company for tea. Ergo, I shall not be having lunch, but I should like to have a large breakfast after I shower. I trust you can make these two meals progress smoothly?"

"Oh yes, Master Draco."

"And Jeeves... Do we have any beer?"

"I believe so, Master Draco."

"Serve it at tea."

"Very well, sir."

"That's all then."

And just as suddenly, the house elf disapperated.

Draco's shower was long, hot, and divine. When he got out he wrapped himself in a luxuriant robe and sat down in his sitting room, before the fire. His breakfast- although by this time of day it was really elevenses, sat on the table to his side, with Theo's letter.

He ate slowly, and read his friend's accounts of his travels. He accio-ed parchment, and ink well, and a quill when he was done, and began to write a reply.

It was, as all of Draco's epistles were, amusing and quaint without being trite. He included humorous stories of the happenings of their friends, and mishaps other Auror trainees had. He did not mention Weasley, or Potter, because really, why should he? He signed the letter, and sealed it with the Malfoy seal. As he left his study, Draco dropped it in a box for Jeeves to give to an owl.

He had nearly an hour before Potter was expected.

Which was quite ideal.


	4. Chapter 4

Potter arrived a few minutes after two, which considering his breading, was unsurprising.

"Well, nice little spot you have here, Malfoy. Daddy pay for it for you?"

"Nothing wrong with being born into class, scar-face. Jeeves?" He snapped.

The elf appeared holding a tray of sandwiches and two well filled glasses of Bertha's Best Bitters.

"Do you think we're eating in here, Jeeves?" Draco drawled, "Food in the parlor, _please_. Once you have achieved the obvious, please return to take Master Potters cloak."

"Malfoy, he doesn't- it's not a big deal, don't be such an ass, I can hang my cloak up myself."

"No you can't, you wouldn't be able to find the cloak room. I assure you, although it may not be the Malfoy Manor, my Ivy House is sufficient well equipped and much more than you, I _know,_ are used to. Jeeves will attend to it. It is his duty, after all."

"So I can give him clothes without it being… freeing?"

"How exactly do you think wizards do laundry?"

"Oh. I hadn't… oh."

"Yes, Potter, _oh._ Ah and Jeeves's back, excellent, now, follow me- and _try _not to get lost, ducky."

Draco caught Potter rolling his eyes as he turned. The blond smiled, the Gryffindor was so easy to bait sometimes.

Draco took the long way getting to his parlor. Truth be told, his current town house was _much_ smaller than The Manor, and although obviously tasteful, somewhat less… grandiose.

But the parlor… The parlor was Draco's favorite room. It was rich and dark, old and polished. Like a well-worn leather brief case it spoke of love of work and enjoyment of the finer things. There was a small fire, it was nearly winter after all, and two leather arm chairs had been arranged in front of it with a laden coffee table between them.

"Take a seat and help yourself. I shall retrieve the pensieve."

Draco had taken the time before their meeting to carefully levitate the stone basin and the both the marked and the remaining unmarked glass veils into the parlor and onto the book shelf earlier. Now he carefully arranged them on his desk. He took down only a few of the vials, a choice of the… _particularly_ unpleasant ones.

Potter wandered over before Draco was done; sandwich in one hand, beer in the other. "So, what do you do?"

"Well, Severus appears to have had a bit of… bad habit. Apparently, instead of _dealing_ with his emotions, he bottled them up- quite literally," Draco shook a vial filled with the silvery memory. "I am going to clear his name, and to do that, I have to go through all _these_," he gestured to the greater number of unmarked tubes, "and find evidence. There are of course, the ones he gave you, which would be helpful, by the way, if you ever feel like returning them."

"Erm, yes, of course. Have you found much to help?"

"Not… legally, no… For the most part, these are just… really unpleasant, really. I might write a biopic, see if I can get some moral support, and they'll be helpful for that, but as far as hard evidence goes, there's little."

"How many have to you done?"

"Oh, a third or so?"

"In how many years?"

"Bugger off Potter, it's emotionally _taxing_!"

"Yeah, right, sure it is, mate."

"You want to see one then? Here," Draco poured one of the more unpleasant revels into the pensieve. "Watch."

"Hold my beer you big poof."

Draco smirked, and watched as Potter entered the memory. He took a swig of the beer, and grabbed a sandwich for himself while he waited. It was good, roast beef on rye with nice mustard, which was probably his favorite kind; really, although a nice smoked salmon on cream cheese was a good, if lighter alternative. His mother liked to serve them.

"Good God, that's terrible." Harry came to himself and pushed away from the table.

"Yeah, now imagine watching four or five in a row."

Potter blanched. "I'm… hand my beer, will you. God, I don't know how you haven't killed yourself yet."

"I break it up." Draco shrugged, nonchalantly, "I don't watch too many at once, I try to leave a few days between them, but that's why I'm so far behind. I thought… I thought I'd get it done that summer after The War, but now- well, not even half way done yet.

Potter swirled his beer in the bottle. Then he sighed. "Let me help you. It's the least I can do for Snape."

"Alright, if we do this, we're going to need some more to drink." Draco turned to look over his shoulder at Potter as he took the bottle out. "How do you take your whiskey?"

"Neat."

Draco stared, then laughed. Head back, mouth wide, the sounds echoing from the oak paneling.


	5. Chapter 5

Draco felt a hand on his shoulder and turned from the grizzly torture scene to look at Potter's wane form. In the pensieve Potter seemed to have the same silvery inchoateness of the bottled memories. "I can't watch anymore."

Draco nodded and pulled them both out in the middle of the memory.

"Drink?"

"Yeah, mate, double."

Draco nodded and set about on autopilot, pouring two healthy drams of the Muggle scotch Potter had brought last weekend.

"So, what are you doing for Christmas, Malfoy? Only a few weeks off now, any big plans?"

Draco leaned back in his leather chair. "Mother is holding a ball… I expect you all will getting invitations, in fact. She's been trying so hard to get our old prestige back."

"Oh, right, I think Ginny mentioned something about that… How are they?"

"The balls or my parents?"

"I meant the ball, but…"

Draco shrugged and let his eyes wander over the mantle, remembering. "The usual. The crème de la crème of society, or at least those who want to be. Shmoozing with each other, drinking overpriced champagne and pretending to like each other." He cocked a smile at Potter, "Women looking for rich husbands."

"It's always about that for you, isn't it? Sex!"

"Well, what else is there? Besides, usually it's the mothers trying to sell their daughters to me, 'Ooh, my Eliza has just gotten back from France, you should talk to her about when you were there!' 'My Margaret is just so interested in law enforcement, she just loves Aurors!' 'My Silvia has just the best needle point!'" Draco mimicked the shrill, nasal voices, hands flying in mockery.

"Needle point! Really?"

"God, yes! Why would I want a wife you did _needlepoint_? That's absurd. I'd marry Granger before I married one of them!"

"Look," Potter set down his glass with a chink, "Malfoy. Hermoine is-"

"Not that bad! Yes, it wasn't any kind of _slur _against you friend Potter. But, well, she's not exactly my type, as it were."

Potter snorted, "Oh yeah, I think we've all seen that."

"And what exactly does that mean?"

Potter feigned ignorance and finished the last of whiskey in a quick swallow. "Right, so, let's do one more of these, and then call it, alright?"

Draco groaned, "Let me finish my drink at least Potter. Not all of us chug good spirit. It's a bloody waste if you ask me."

"Just because I don't take a full monologue between each sip doesn't mean I don't appreciate it."

Draco shook his head, "Someday, Potter, I'm going to get you to admit you're a barbarian."

"You know, _Hermoine_ was just saying that to me the other day. She was talking about Mrs. Butterfly or something, and I asked if that was Spiderman character."

"Mrs. Butter… you mean _Madame_ Butterfly? The opera? You asked if-! Good God Potter. Have you _any_ culture?"

"That's exactly what Hermoine said! I wish you two would give each other a chance, you're so alike sometimes." He even had the indecency to laugh.

Draco clenched his eyes shut as he drained the rest of his scotch to burn back a retort. When he could breathe again he crooked out, "Drink done. Let's get on with it."


	6. Chapter 6

"Lucius… what about your wi-ife," the young Snape halfheartedly pushed the fair man away.

"Shh, Severus, it'll be like old times," Lucius circled around, pale fingers trailing over Snape's shoulder and back. He leaned in so the bodies barely grazed, and breathed, "Please."

Both hands reached around Snape's black covered body, one holding onto a narrow hip and the other sliding down and stroking up across chest and torso.

"Lucius…" The dark man turned slightly in his arms, the sibilant breath brushing the wealthy Malfoy's lips.

"Yes?"

"Yes."

The scene suddenly took a different feel, instead of tender and seductive, suddenly it was needy and passionate. Buttons flew and clothes fell in pieces to the floor.

"Merlin, what took us so long to do this again? I need you Severus."

"Malfoy..."

"MALFOY."

"DRACO!"

The son turned from his father to look at the short dark haired man calling his name. "I can't watch this." Poor Potter was bright red, eyes averted. If he could've blocked out the noises too, Draco was sure he would've, in fact he looked like he wanted to put his fingers in his ears and sing. Draco grabbed his shoulder and mentally pulled them out.

And became aware, very suddenly, of an unsurprising erection pressing against the table. With a slight adjustment, Draco left it there. "Got a bit too hot and heavy for you, Potter?"

Potter just looked speechless.

"That was your dad. And Snape. Having sex. Pour me another drink, will you? I need to forget that happened."

Draco walked, carefully, to the leather chairs where their drained glasses sat and poured in a few fingers worth of firewhiskey. "Well, yes. That is probably what was happening. I imagine there was something else as well that would show up, after all, I doubt that event in and of itself warranted memory saving, no matter how obsessive Severus was."

"You don't care? But that means you're dad's… a poof."

"I know you were raised by muggles, Potter, but were you raised by absolute philistines? There is nothing wrong with two men having sex, what did you do in Gryffindor Tower before you got the Weasley girl?"

"I certainly didn't bugger my mates!"

"Look, boys have needs. Men have needs. Why not satisfy them with what's available. Besides, men offer… variation. Why limit yourself to half the population?"

"I- that was your dad!"

"So? Are you saying you never suspected anything between your dad and his friends? Or between Sirius and Remus? Come off it Potter. It doesn't mean anything. It's just sex."

"But sex does mean something, Malfoy. Sex is… intimate, and- and, loving, and not just something you do with everyone!"

"You closet romantic! Potter, I never knew. So you and Ron never…?"

"No!"

"And the older quiditch lads? Wood? Thomas? The other Weasleys?"

"No! To all of them, I've only been with Ginny!"

"Only- what? Potter, you're practically a virgin."

"Just because I'm not some easy whore who fucks everything doesn't mean I don't know what I'm doing."

"Oh yeah? How'd you know?"

"Ginny's told me."

"And how'd she know? Your girlfriend sleep around more than you do?"

To be fair, Draco should have seen the punch coming. It had been coming for a while, probably, and knocking a bloke's girl was a right nasty thing to do.

"Bloody- ow! Merlin Potter, I think you loosened some teeth!"

"Fuck you Malfoy! And fuck this! I don't know why I bothered to offer to help you. Every time I come over you mock me and my friends and my family, and I am _done with it_. You can go back to your sad little life watching Snape's miserable life instead living your own! I'll do what I can to exonerate him, and I'll put up with you in training, but I am done with you, Malfoy!" Potter was standing by now, hands still fisted.

"Potter, look, I'm sorry." Draco held up his hands, beseeching, "I know… that was uncalled for. But understand what you said too."

"I am not in the wrong here!"

"You called my father a poof and me a whore! How was that okay? How is that acceptable?"

"Oh- I-" Potter looked at his feet and blushed.

"Yeah, Potter, _oh_. It takes two to tango; I'm not the one who started this!" Draco could feel his temper rising, it had all been in good fun before but somewhere it had crossed the line.

"Started it? Yes you did, Malfoy, you've been on my back since day one, mocking me, calling me 'Potty' and 'Scar-face' and-"

"YOU WOULDN'T BE MY FRIEND!" The words felt like they were ripped out of his soul.

"Calling Hermoine eve- what? Your _friend? _When was that?"

Draco felt hot and embarrassed suddenly, "At Hogwarts…"

"What? Malfoy, that was years ago!"

"No one had ever told me that… that they didn't like me before… and then to choose an uncultured ginger and… you know I don't feel this way now, but then, to have someone I wanted to be friends with pick a _mudblood_ over me?"

"I'm sorry Malfoy, I guess… I was a kid. I didn't understand."

"I didn't really either, to be honest. I was just mad. That's why I picked all those fights with you, to maybe make you realize… what you'd lost." He sighed, "I'm sorry though, it just made it all worse."

"I…" Potter placed his hand on Draco's shoulder, "I'm sorry too, and I forgive you."

And then Draco, quite suddenly noticed how good Potter smelled, and how honest those big, green eyes were.

_Fuck_.


	7. Chapter 7

The plan was simple- Draco just had to be paired with Harry for the last 6 months, and until then, he had to convince Harry of two things, first, that Draco was really a nice guy, or at least nice enough to fuck, and that, second, fucking guys wasn't a bad thing, but a decidedly good one. That everyone was doing it.

He hadn't accounted for Ginny Weasley.

He'd seen her a few times, of course, since The War. They'd been civil. He'd found her more palatable than her brothers- the ones he knew at least. But he didn't know much about her, except that was a dab hand at bat-boogey, was a rising Quiditch star, and she'd been in love with Harry Potter since she was 11. It was intimidating, to say the least.

Which is why Draco was pulling out the big guns.

"Theo, Blaise, I have a problem."

"Don't you always?" Blaise drawled lazily.

"Blaise, shut up. Ogden's?"

"God Draco, don't you ever drink anything else?" Theo called from the book cases near the fire. "I'll have some, but you need to… diversify. That's you're problem. All your eggs are in one little basket."

"I don't need my life whittled down into clichés Theo. My problem here is specific. I need the littlest Weasley and her boyfriend, boy-wonder, to break up."

"Got your eye on blood traitor?"

He turned his back to them, to watch the fire before speaking. "Blaise. The war is over, we lost, the Weasley's are better off than any of us now. Maybe not financially, but in terms of power and prestigious they and their allies dominate the Ministry and public opinion."

"So you do want her." The handsome Italian smirked. "Well, well. I see your problem."

Theo tapped his nail against the glass of his tumbler, "No, Blaise, I don't think that's it. It's something else, isn't it, Draco?"

"Sit down Theo, and yes, it is something else. Something bigger. More difficult than seducing a Weasley even." Draco paused, let no one say he didn't have an flair for the dramatics, "I don't want Ginny Weasley… I want… Harry Potter."

Neither man flinched. Blaise slowly set down his whiskey on the table and drew his wand. "Draco, it is obvious you are under some kind of spell. Do me the honor of letting me remove it?"

"Blaise, I'm not under any spell! I just… he's so- good. He's so _good_. He's honestly a good person! I've never met anyone like him!"

Blaise began a long string of spells to remove curses and show potions. Draco sighed, and let him.

"So you need… one of us to distract the Weasley girl, is that right?"

"Thank you, Theo, for having, and using, your brain."

Blaise ignored the jab and continued his examination.

"I don't want anything to be linked back to me, and if, well, if I could just convince them to… separate. I don't want to be stuck with Potter my whole life. I just want a bit of fun. And Blaise, stop that, it tickles."

Theo sipped his whiskey, "She is fit."

"Bet she's a little spit fire in bed too." Draco nudged.

"Not really my type. Blaise, I think it's time you turned over new leaf, mate."

"Have you both gone mad? This is a _Weasley_ we're talking about."

"I know you've been out of the country recently, but Blaise, try to keep up with news. Have you seen what she looks like? Mother's having her typical Christmas party next Saturday, I want you two to try and… distract her. If you can lay down some ground work before now and then, all the better. I know it's short notice but, look I know you can be charming, why not take on the challenge?"

Blaise sat with a sigh, "I'll think about it."

"Hey Draco…" Theo looked back up to his blond friend, "Will you invite Hermoine Granger?"


	8. Chapter 8

_Time to suck up._

"Miss Granger, as your host tonight, I simply must ask you to dance. As a man, I simply must tell you that you look lovely."

Hermoine Granger nodded, slowly, "Alright, Malfoy, I suppose I'd rather dance with you than your father."

"Do you know this reel, or shall we wait for something else?" Draco tried to keep his tone polite, without any inflection that would show his true feelings on people who didn't properly know how to dance.

"I've had dancing lessons Malfoy, more than just the crash course at Hogwarts, I know this one. Let's get on with it." She huffed.

Draco smiled, and took her gloved hand in his.

"Read a book on it?"

"I said I'd dance with you Malfoy, but I won't stan-"

"Look, I'm just teasing you, Granger. So where's your date? You came with Weasley? I thought I saw him when you came in, but he appears to have… disappeared."

"You know Ron, two left feet and no rhythm. He's probably with Harry, trying to calm him down," she leveled him with her pale brown eyes, "Do you happen to know why Blaise is trying to seduce Ginny?"

Draco took care not to snort, but he thought Granger might have noticed, "No, erm, that's… Blaise, you say? Blaise is… seducing… Weasley's little sister?"

"Trying." She turned her head and a curly tendril floated down from her elegant chignon, "and unsuccessfully at that. Or so it seems."

_Bollocks._

"What?"

"What 'what'?"

"You said 'Bollocks,' Malfoy. Why?"

"Just thinking," he cringed as soon as soon as he said it.

"About testicles?" Granger laughed, and for a moment they were separated through the pattern of the dance.

When they came back, she was still laughing, "Do you often find yourself thinking of such things, Malfoy?"

"Quite," he added airs to voice, "I find them quite, erm, that is to say, they are, rather, fascinating."

"I say,"

"_Indeed,_" They said together, and Draco noticed that she was rather pretty, really, when she wasn't threatening said genitalia. In a sort of general, even plain way.

"You know, Malfoy, you do a pretty good public school boy impression."

"Have you met my father?"

She laughed again, and Draco barely managed to keep his feet moving the right way as he more silky tendrils trembled and tumbled down her pale neck.

"Actually, that reminds me, there are three Malfoys here, two of whom are men. It's a bit confusing, and since we've known each other for so long," she spun out in time with the rest of the women, midnight blue robes fluttering elegantly.

Draco advanced on tempo and she blithely continued, "Practically our whole lives,"

She turned and flickered a step away again, "Perhaps we might use our first names. I'm Hermoine."

Draco smiled, "I'm Draco. Nice to meet you, Hermoine."

"I'm working for the Ministry right now, number crunching and arithmancy right now, but I think I'd like to start my own research soon, maybe teach someday."

"I'm training to be an Auror."

"Oh really? My boyfriend is too," she damn near _sparkled_, "maybe you know him, his name is Ron."

"I think we've met a few times," he pulled her close to waltz, "seems like a good bloke."

"He is. We've been dating for years. Have you got a girl friend?"

"Not… as such." Draco paused, the song was nearly done… and if he timed it _just right…_

She laughed, "how's that?"

_Could he get out of it?_ "Well, there's someone I'm interested in, but I'm afraid I'm not quite good enough…"

"Draco Malfoy, thinks someone else is better than him! Call the presses! Who is it?" She leaned in with a stage whisper; a reporter hearing the newest scoop.

He let go of her and they both stepped back into their lines. When they stepped forward again for the final turn he learned in and whispered, "Secret."

She stepped back. And the dance was done.

He bowed, formally, "Thank you, Hermoine. That was lovely."


	9. Chapter 9

Draco was sitting at the bar, nursing a drink, and feeling sorry for himself. He'd been _trying_ to do everything right. He'd waited a little while to greet Potter after he'd arrived, and then complimented his dress robes, played nice with his friends, and what did he get? Nothing. "Stupid oblivious perfect fucking wonder boy… Hey you! Bartender, get me another!"

"Oy, Malfoy you alcoholic, are you hitting on Ron's girlfriend?"

"What- Potter? No. I was being friendly. I'm her host, she's my guest, you told me I might like her if we got to know each other, I'm being nice Potter. Not everything is about sex." He gave a maudlin turn back to his drink.

Potter snorted and shook his head, black hair falling into his eyes, "With you Malfoy? I wouldn't be so sure." He sighed then, "Mind if I sit with you? I bloody hate dancing. Awful at it too."

"You can't be worse than Weasley."

Potter laughed, "No, Ron, puts us all to shame. He can be _so_ graceful when he duels, and he's a good flyer, but put him on dance floor…"

Draco smiled, a bit awkwardly. The easy banter and light teasing that had defined their conversations seemed so far out of reach, tucked behind those gorgeous eyes and tanned cheek bones. He wanted to reach up and run a hand through that tousled hair. He was saved from any kind of need to further the conversation by the strange couple that had drifted up to them.

"Draco, Potter, the current mansuetude of the Centaur Republics- is it feigned or an honest avowal of altered sentiments?"

"God Good Theo, could you be more pretentious? I'm assuming you're talking about this new treaty the Centaurs of The Forbidden Forest have proposed? The ones on the Eastern Steppes still remain violently opposed to any wizard actions, and the tribes in the Black Forest are too concerned with internal power wars to have any kind of 'sentiment' about us." Draco sipped his drink, as Theo held out his hand, as if to point out the veracity of such an argument to his companion.

"That said, the new treaty _does_ seem to show a decidedly less violent course of actions. Some parts of it even point to a growing possibility for a symbiotic relationship between us and the centaurs. I presume this was your point, Hermoine?"

"Yes, thank you, Draco."

Draco nodded, "I might not be the biggest move, but it is one in the right direction."

"You brownnoser, Draco. Just because you w- "

"THEO. Outside. Now." Draco grabbed the taller man, and stumbled onto a balcony with him. The significantly more sober pair inside shared a look of mutual confusion. On the way Theo caught Blaise's eye and jerked his head towards the door.

It was… interesting to see Blaise and Theo together. They looked nothing alike, really, when it came down to it. Theo was taller and slight while Blaise was dark and more muscled, but seven years of living together, plus a childhood of occasional meetings, and now several years of close friendship had given them a similarity of movement. Blaise was aggressive, although deceptively quieter. Theo had worse posture and had recently affected the air of a slightly absent minded academic. But there was something about them that Draco noticed as they followed him out. Somehow they could've been brothers.

In a lighter mood, Draco would have commented (mocked, really) about it. Instead, there were serious matters to discuss.

"Lads. We need a better plan."

"And what's wrong with the old one, my liege? Were we, your _humble_ minions, not carrying out orders fast enough?" Blaise was also a bit more of pratt than Theo.

"No it's…" Draco made an absent minded throw of his hand before pushing back his agitation. The other two shared a look that bespoke the burden of friendship which such a man as Draco Malfoy.

"So, what's the problem now Draco?"

"Well it's… taking so bloody long! I'm being nice to his friends, nice to _Granger_, I'm flirting with him- laying it on so fucking thick that I, I, damnit! I don't know what to do!"

"Well, stop whinging for one, you great prick, you're not-"

"He has a girlfriend, he doesn't like me, he doesn't even like men!" In a lesser wizard, the tone might have sounded petulant, whiney.

Theo cleared his throat, "I had been planning on saving it, but… Draco…" he smiled lazily, "have you ever tried merwine?"


End file.
